


Hearth and Home

by Officer_Jennie



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Hiraeth - A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.





	Hearth and Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copyninken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copyninken/gifts).



> So this exists.

It had started as little more than a waking dream, settled into his mind in the brief moments before he had fully awakened. Laughter in ruby eyes, a scrunched up nose, white tufts a mess as they ticked his cheek. Soft lips pressing against his own with a content sigh, smooth pale skin under his calloused palms, and nothing but peace and quiet hanging in the morning lit room around them.

Once the sleep vision left him, his futon empty save for himself and the pillow he always displaced in his sleep, all he could do was blearily blink at the spot he had been certain someone was laying in. Only after his mind caught up with itself did he feel the tug of revulsion at his gut, and he tossed the covers aside to stumble his way down the hall to the kitchen, determined to pump himself so full of coffee he would never sleep another wink again.

For once, not even his dark roast could comfort him, nor could it erase the small flicker in his chest. He was left staring at his counter-top, searching for answers in the wood grain as the sparrows busied themselves building a nest in the rafters of his back porch.

The Senju brat had been nothing more than a thorn in his side since the treaty had been signed, a constant nuisance determined to cause him issue at every turn. The only sanctuary he’d had left from that sneer and sharp tone since the village had formed had been his home, and now even that had been violated by unwelcomed visions.

Instinct said it was a plot against him. Sage only knew what that bastard could  _really_ do, what secret jutsu or poisons he crafted, locked up in that lab of his. The Senju was quick enough for sleight of hand trickery, and it would only take a moment of distraction to slip something into his food. Just to be sure it wouldn’t happen again, Madara spent the little quiet time he had left that morning preparing a bento. His own cooking didn’t compare to what Hashirama forced on him every lunch, but preparing it himself guaranteed no contaminants beyond the food particles he couldn’t be bothered to scrub off his counters.

For a while, his problem was solved. By the time a month had come and gone, he’d forgotten his strange half-dream, mind busy and body exhausted from throwing himself into making his childhood dream and sound and lasting reality. Pondering a fleeting and ultimately meaningless moment was a waste of energy when peace itself was so hard to grasp, every ally gained a victory but a touch and taxing battle still.

Some evenings he longed for the song and dance of his early adulthood. Forms and meetings and long candle-lit nights in the tower left less blood on his hands but always left him bone-weary in turn, as if his soul knew not how to handle this new leaf he’d turned.

At least he did not suffer alone. The oaf might have slipped into this new life with ease, but there were a few whose eyes told tales of sleepless nights. His own night wanderings had gone unnoticed by the village over which he held vigil, though there were times he felt a second set of eyes watching along with him. He never said a word to the form hidden in the trees, never caught that ruby gaze. Only settled himself further into the crook of his oak, letting the cool air drape over him, the moon shinning over the buildings he couldn’t quite believe were real.

It was his habitual nature that brought the memory back to him. He’d groused on about the sparrow’s nest when Izuna would sit still enough to listen, but he’d left the birds to do as they pleased in the end to no one’s surprise, least of all his own. Sneaking to the kitchen window of a morning to watch them had become routine, counting the days til the air would fill with both the bitter-rich scent of his morning brew and the shrill cries of the hungry chicks growing inside the eggs he’d spotted the week before.

The morning came and his heart warmed with it, sparrow chicks turning to hawklings in his mind’s eye, how his own used to respond to his cooing. How that warm memory morphed into his forgotten dream, he did not know, but it was no longer down fluff his fingertips tingled at the memory of, no longer the ghosts of his hawks that caused the melancholy settling over him.

How he could miss a moment that never was baffled him, and he left without finishing his second cup of coffee, hoping to drown himself in the paperwork waiting for him in his office. But for once all that awaited him was menial tasks, never enough to occupy his thoughts, mind ever drifting to the man he could hear down the hall chewing their esteemed hokage out for misplacing some document or another.

It was long passed when the sparrows had left the nest that Madara allowed himself to wander back to his oak, not trusting his own traitorous mind after its recent betrayals. He still said nothing when his silent companion joined his watch, still sat in awe and disbelief at the expanding streets that stretched further below with each passing day.

Exactly when their night watches together became another routine, Madara could not tell. But soon sitting alone overlooking his village put him on edge, the air stale at times when only he stayed up in the dark. Thankfully he wasn’t left often to ponder the whys of the matter, since not even his supposed good sense could keep the Senju from ruining any hope of a healthy sleep schedule, so often he’d slip into the treeline to study the village beneath them.

By the time winter made Konoha its home, even the hostile edge to their professional dealings had cooled. For every heated argument over laws and regulations there was a handful of meetings without incident between the two. In place of the jeering that had marked their relationship there was mutual disinterest, an unstated understanding to let the other be and go about their day with as little provocation as possible.

Winter left them early, spring coming and going before Madara had a chance to enjoy the pleasantly cool weather. His sparrows nested late, their eggs only having just been laid when the heat of July hit them.

He found the dream haunted him more and more as the days warmed, no longer left in the farthest reaches of his mind but just in its periphery. And that wasn’t all that haunted him while the stars were at their peek, shinning in through his open window as the night breeze fluttered the loose papers on his night table. Something niggled at him, a thought just out of reach, his body restless as if on the cusp of understanding.

His answer came as quiet as the nights they’d so often spent in each other’s company. Lunch in Konoha’s newly formed shopping district still felt like a luxury, and Madara hardly ever indulged out of his own pocket. Eating with his overtly generous friend had its perks at least, even if the price was dealing with the tension that sparked the air between their brothers.

With Izuna’s job at the academy on the opposite side of town they split ways shortly after they ate, the other three content enough to meander back to the tower, Madara bringing up the rear. He was treated with a rare sight, watching the two Senju act like true siblings. The growing responsibilities weighed on them all so heavily that even Hashirama often slipped into his own bastardized version of professionalism when out and about, but their lunch out had been enough to relax his shoulders and set him about roughhousing in the bustling streets, doing his best to catch Tobirama off-guard and topple him over.

One misstep, and Hashirama tripped, limbs flailing as he tried and failed to catch himself. Their fearsome leader landed face first in the middle of the street, several of his citizens having to cover their mouths to not be caught snickering at his tomfoolery.

He expected Tobirama to lecture the idiot. His spiels on proper etiquette were so common place they seemed second nature, structured so well Madara was certain he’d practiced in the past to perfect them. And Hashirama was his favorite target, after all, not a day passing without at least one of his several speeches echoing down the halls of the tower from his older brother’s office.

Instead, he laughed. Nothing boisterous like his sibling, no obnoxious snorting or shrill giggles. Just a wrinkle of his nose, the edges of his eyes crinkling, staring down at his wailing brother. A hint of a smile, no noise beyond a soft exhale as he helped Hashirama up from the ground.

All Madara could do was stare at the way the wind tousled his hair, face soft, nose scrunched up just like in the moment that never was. And when his heart ached at the sight he knew he was doomed.

“Coming, Uchiha?” The words were tossed over his shoulder, ruby eyes alight with humor. Madara nodded dumbly in response, but it still took a few more moments to get his legs to listen.

He didn’t go back to his oak that night, dazed at the revelation squirming in his stomach. Only stared up at the ceiling until the sun peeked in, the sounds of the morning spilling in through his open window, his sparrow’s chicks hatched at last and chirping from their nest.

It seemed they weren’t the only uninvited guests worming their way into his heart after all.


End file.
